


Voice Interface Confrontation

by Thy-Demon (MrsSaxon)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s06e08 Let's Kill Hitler, M/M, voice interface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/Thy-Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scene. Rose, Martha, and Donna aren't the only people the Doctor feels guilty about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice Interface Confrontation

“Voice interface come on, emergency!” the Doctor panted, wheezing on the ground as his vital organs slowly started to freeze up, River’s poison attacking his stomach and digestive system first, not quite in the blood stream yet though, but getting there.

“Voice interface enabled,” an eerie hologram of himself echoed. The Doctor cringed, “Oh nononononono no, give me someone I like!” The last thing he wanted to see, in his possibly last moments, was himself. All his mistakes and failures and flaws thrown back at him in the end, like the universe was cruelly mocking him, ‘here’s your savior Doctor, _yourself._ Have fun.’

The hologram flickered, shorter, curvier, blonder… “Oh. _Thanks_ , give me guilt.” His panting was escalating from his hearts twisting painfully, not from River’s poison this time, but his own tortured conscience.

It flickered again, Martha Jones. “Also guilt!” he gasped desperately.

Another flick, Donna Noble. “MORE guilt!” He winced hard, turning his face away, but before he could ask, the TARDIS changed the hologram again.

“Vocal interface enabled,” a low voice growled.

The Doctor went bone white, eyes open wide in shock and yet deliberately not turning towards the hologram, “No… not you… not him… anything but him, please…”

“Oh, but I thought you liked my voice,” he purred, the hologram solidifying out of the corner of his eye, “Go on Doctor, say my name.”

The Doctor’s face contorted in pain, his eyes screwing up tight and shut. “You’re not real… you’re just an image… you’re not here…”

The voice tisked, “Sadly yes… but then why are you keeping your eyes shut? You can’t block me out that way,” and the Doctor can hear the familiar, sickening grin on the construct’s face.

Slowly, unforgivingly, he turns his face back to him and opens his eyes. “Right then… since you’re going to be a stubborn git about it… I’ll play along…” he swallows hard, keeping his eyes hard like diamonds, so that the hologram, the insubstantial echo of someone long lost to him, can’t see all the pain and all the apologies and all the half-longed for, half-despised fantasies behind them. “How’m I doing?”

The hologram tilts his head back, “Use my name.”

“How’m I doing MASTER?” he snaps, shouting at him because he never changes, all this time, always the same struggle, the same fight, over and over again, and he never wins, neither of them do. And it hurts more than the Doctor can possibly bear to say, how badly he wants to give in, matched only by his conviction that he knows he can’t.

The Master hologram grins sadistically, “I _like_ it when you use my name,” he pauses, surveying his latest regeneration, soaking up the pain and anguish coming off him in waves before answering, “You will die in 32 minutes, Doctor …not that you don’t deserve it… OH, SORRY. I’m just a voice interface, I don’t get to have opinions. You’ll be dead in 32 minutes… and I won’t even be here to laugh over your grave.” His expression is unreadable, can’t tell if it’s a satisfied smirk or a vengeful sneer.

The Doctor looks up and swallows weakly, the hardness in his eyes crumbling, “Alright, options. What can I do about it?”

The Master’s smirk becomes dominant, “Nothing. You will die in 32 minutes Doctor, wish I was the one to do it. It’s sort of my right isn’t it, after all these years?”

“Options,” the Doctor commands weakly, looking away, not answering.

The Master steps forward, normally the holograms aren’t supposed to move, but the Master was never one to pay attention to anyone’s rules except his own. He advances over the weakened Doctor, like a predator going in for the kill, “You will die in 32 minutes Doctor, oh, I wish I could see it, but I can’t because OH YEAH I’m dead and it’s your fault!”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” the Doctor rages, yelling up at him, “I DIDN’T kill you! NOT this time, YOU stepped in front of me, remember? Get out of the way, that’s what you said, it was NOT my fault this time!”

“THIS time,” the Master hisses back, “But how many other times did you pull the trigger Doctor? How many times could you have saved me but instead you ignored me, or walked away, or RAN, ran like the coward you are. Like the coward that could never love me or protect me when I needed you most.” The Master’s eyes shine with rage, the Doctor never knew a hologram could look so angry.

“I did run…” he whispers after a tense silence, “I ran from you… I admit it, and I was wrong to. But I can’t change the past, and it’s becoming clear to me now that I could never save you. You ARE dead, but not by my hand, not even by Rassilon’s, by your own. You’ve murdered everything that was good and brilliant about you, now you’re just an empty shell craving power because you’re so… angry…” He swallows, gasping as his kidneys start to weaken.

The Master straightens, looking down his nose at him, “I’d give anything to kick you in the face right now Doctor, hear your nose crack and feel the blood under my heel as I walk away. Maybe when I come back, I’ll have the privilege to do so. Having you lying at my feet is so… tempting,” he exhales deeply, “Look at you, you’re pathetic. Yelling at a hologram because you don’t have the guts, you don’t have the HONOR to say it to my face. You know it’s true, you’re only telling me now because I’m not real… I’ll never hear this… you’re such a coward, you make me sick.”

The Doctor says nothing, breathing ragged, his emotions out of control under the stress of his flailing life support systems. He realizes he’s trembling. “I’m sorry,” he bites out, the words coming out strangled, “I never deserved you,” and it’s the most honest, most sincere thing he’s ever told the Master.

The Master says nothing, back to him, unmoving.

“…I’m dying,” he chokes out at last.

“In 32 minutes yes, but for 31 minutes you’ll be fine,” the Master suddenly snaps turning back to him.

“What do you mean?” The Doctor coughs, not understanding.

“THINK idiot! You have 31 minutes to do something genius and stupid and incredibly dangerous, don’t you dare give up on me now. Not after all this time, so many times you’ve wriggled out of my grasp, I refuse to be bested by the mutant baby of your companions.” There’s a sparkle of something light in his dark whiskey-colored eyes, but the Doctor only catches it for a second before it flashes away.

Slowly he starts to grin, “You’d really never let anyone else kill me… would you?” Gripping the bars behind him, he starts to pull himself up.

The hologram shakes its head once, “Never.” And flickers out.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Epilogue:_
> 
> “Suits… suits… I wore so many nice suits in my last regeneration, why can I never find any now?” Clinging to bars and clothing racks, he’d dragged himself up to the costume closet.
> 
> “What about that tuxedo you wore to the ginger’s wedding?” a voice drawled.
> 
> The Doctor turned with a grin, “Thought you’d disappeared back into the TARDIS?”
> 
> “Tried, but unfortunately emergency voice interface command doesn’t end until you say so,” the Master pouted.
> 
> The Doctor grinned wider, “Excellent, now then, why the tuxedo?”
> 
> “It’s black, can’t go wrong with black, it’s why I wear it all the time,” the Master smirked proudly.
> 
> “You just want me to wear it because it’s your favorite color,” the Doctor grinned knowingly, his breathing calmer now, able to keep himself upright to look for suits.
> 
> The Master pretended not to hear, “What about that sonic cane over there?”
> 
> “Where?” the Doctor turned, frowning.
> 
> “There,” the hologram pointed to a stack of umbrellas and walking sticks, “might come in useful.”
> 
> “Why…?” the Doctor frowned, raising an eyebrow.
> 
> The Master stepped forward, smirking, “Call it a hunch. Shhhhhhhh, listen to your Master, take the cane and wear the tux because they match. And I like black.”
> 
> For a second the Master’s face softens and the Doctor regrets the fact that he’s insubstantial so trying to touch him or, say, one last make out session before certain death, was out of the question.
> 
> “Well, if anyone ever knew how to go out in style, it would certainly have to be you,” he grinned and strode off to find his tuxedo to the sound of the Master’s annoyed growls.


End file.
